


My Dogfather, Sirius Black

by twomile



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Funny, M/M, Satire, Sirius Black Being Ridiculous, Sirius Black Lives, Sirius Black Raises Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-20 19:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twomile/pseuds/twomile
Summary: Since 1981, Harry Potter has been raised by his late father’s best friend Sirius black.This is complete satire
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

Sirius was walking up to Harry from across the platform, where he had just been speaking to Mrs. Weasley and Ginny. Harry watched him approach and felt resigned. Honestly, he had been hoping to miss out on the inevitable mushy goodbye, considering Sirius would be teaching at Hogwarts this year. His godfather had accepted the position as the new Divination professor since Sybill Trelawney had eloped to France. 

“Hey kid. Let’s talk.” Sirius said, climbing into the compartment.

Oh boy. After ten years with Sirius, a grand total of zero of the conversations that had started like THAT had turned out in his favor.

“Is this about what you and Mrs. Weasley were fighting over? Because you don’t have to tell me. I already KNOW how conception works,” Harry said. While they had been waiting outside the barrier, Sirius had gone into considerably extreme detail as to exactly what he thought Trelawney was getting up to during her year off. Needless to say Mrs. Weasley was not thrilled.

“I wasn’t- wait.” Sirius paled considerably. “How?”

“You sent me to muggle public school.” Harry shrugged innocently.

“Hmm. Maybe I should’ve thought twice about- nah. It saved me an awkward conversation.” Sirius waved a hand, and the subject was immediately dropped. “You don’t, er, have any questions do you?” Sirius asked awkwardly. 

Harry shook his head as forcefully as he possibly could. “God no.”

“Oh thank the lord,” Sirius exhaled in relief, hand over his heart. “Anyways, that's not what I came over here about. I wanted to talk to you about Hogwarts.”

Harry sighed. He knew what was coming. In its own way, this was even worse than the sex talk.

“You’ve said this a million times already-”

“If you don’t get into Gryffindor, Harry, I WILL disown you.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” 

“You think I’m joking?” Sirius threatened. “I’m dead serious.”

Harry could not help himself. “I would HOPE not-”

“This isn’t a joke. I brought papers.” Sirius produced a couple documents from his back pocket and showed them to Harry. Huh. So he really wasn’t kidding. “You have muggle relatives who I know would be less than happy to take you in.”

“Or I could live with the Weasleys,” Harry suggested.

Sirius considered this. “True, but that would make things a lot more awkward when you eventually end up marrying Ginny,” he decided.

“Why do you think that’s going to happen?” Harry asked. He was genuinely curious. Never once in his life had Sirius ever shown signs of actually being a Seer. 

Sirius scratched his chin. “I think I Saw it,” he said slowly. “Ever since Dumbledore hired me, I’ve been practicing with these crystal balls…”

“Where did you get crystal balls?” Harry asked.

Sirius grinned at him. “My mother kept all sorts of weird shit around the house.” he said. Harry decided that if the crystal balls came from Grimmauld place, then they were probably as accurate as a Magic 8 Ball, and therefore he didn’t have to actually worry about someday marrying Ron’s sister.

“So… Can I go now?” 

“I guess so,” said Sirius. “So help me Merlin, Harry, if you embarrass me and get put into Slytherin or something...”

“I wouldn’t try to obviously, since disownment is on the line,” Harry said testily.

Sirius fixed him with a stern look. “Just saying. BEG the hat if it comes to it. Cry.”

“Now THAT would be embarrassing for you,” Harry pointed out. 

Sirius scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, maybe don’t do that,” he concluded. Harry watched as he climbed out of the compartment. “Bye kiddo.”

“Bye Sirius.” 

“Grab me some pumpkin pasties when the cart goes by, alright?”

“Fine,” Harry agreed. Sirius walked away.

Minutes after Sirius left, Harry was joined in the compartment by someone else. Ron Weasley stopped in the doorway and glanced around awkwardly. Sirius had worked pretty close with Arthur Wealsey in the Ministry, so Harry was fairly acquainted with all the Weasley children. He had never really talked to Ron before, though. 

“Hey,” Harry said.

“Er- hi.” said Ron. He made absolutely no effort to sit down. 

Harry sighed. Was defeating Voldemort not enough? Did he really have to do everything? “Do you want to sit here?” he asked.

Ron managed to look even MORE uncomfortable, which was an incredible accomplishment. “If it’s not taken-” 

“It is,” Harry said. 

“By who?

“You.” 

Ron rolled his eyes, but stored his trunk (with the help of Harry) and sat down across from him. They stared at each other blankly for a few moments, unsure what to say next.

“Do you remember what You-Know-Who looks like?” Ron blurted out suddenly. Ok, so he obviously had absolutely no tact whatsoever. 

“Seriously?” Harry said. Ron just shrugged. Harry sighed. “Don’t you think that's sort of PRYING?” Ron shrugged again and said nothing, though he was looking increasingly more awkward. “No, I don’t remember what Voldemort looks like.” Harry said.

Ron cringed. “You shouldn’t say the name.”

“You shouldn’t ask people about the man who brutally murdered their parents the first day you speak to them,” Harry countered, trying to keep his mouth from twitching.

Ron’s face flushed the same color of his hair. “I’m really sorry. I probably shouldn’t have- yeah, that was stupid.”

“It was a very offensive question,” Harry insisted.

“I know. I should’ve just listened to what my Mum said.” Ron said. “She told me not to ask you.”

Harry laughed, picturing Mrs. Weasley admonishing Ron. 

His sudden change in mood only made Ron more confused. “What are you laughing about? You were about to knock my block off two minutes ago.”

“I was just joking,” Harry explained. “You didn’t actually offend me. And my parents weren’t really brutally murdered, either. The killing curse doesn’t even leave a physical mark.” He scratched his chin. “If it works,” he added.

“Oh. Right.” Ron smiled shakily, but Harry could tell he was relieved.

“Although, I WAS fifteen months old at the time,” Harry pointed out. “My long term memory hadn’t even developed yet.”

“Yeah. I guess I didn’t really think about that,” Ron amended. 

“No one does.” Harry shrugged.

At eleven on the dot, the train pulled out of the station. Ron went to the window to wave bye to Ginny and his mom, but Harry stayed put. He would be seeing Sirius in a few hours anyways. Once they were outside of London the compartment door swung open rather dramatically, and two of Harry’s fellow first years entered, completely uninvited. 

“Um, hi,” Harry said, slightly miffed. He was enjoying it being just him and Ron, who was quiet, but had potential.

“Hi,” said a girl with bushy hair. “I’m Hermione Granger, and this is-” she stopped, her eyes widening to a comical size. “HARRY?!” she shrieked. 

The boy who had entered the compartment with her frowned. “My name is Neville, actually. I already TOLD you that-”

“No, Harry,” said Hermione Granger breathlessly, staring directly at him. Was he supposed to know her from someplace? 

Harry stared blankly at her for a moment until it all finally clicked. He felt his mouth fall open. “Hermione?” 

They had gone to muggle school together in London. God, he did NOT like her. And the feeling was mutual. Sirius had insisted that Harry go because it was what Lily, who was muggle born, would have wanted him to do. Hermione obviously went because she was muggle born, but was apparently, not to mention inconveniently, NOT a muggle. 

“So you’re not just Harry Potter, you’re THE HARRY POTTER,” said Hermione, looking annoyed. “Stupid. I should have known the name wasn’t THAT popular.”

“You never told me you were a witch!” Harry exclaimed.

“Well, I wasn’t really SUPPOSED to!” Hermione reprimanded. Her hands went sternly to her hips. 

And Harry had thought he had seen the last of her. “Oh God, I am so dropping out,” he groaned.

“I take it you guys know each other?” Ron input awkwardly, staring between them. 

“We went to primary school together in London,” explained Hermione. She sounded much more patient when she wasn’t speaking to someone she already had preconceived annoyances about. “Obviously I didn’t know who Harry was-”

“And I didn’t know she was a witch, or else I probably would have gone to Durmstrang instead,” Harry said.

“I heard they’re all ex You-Know-Who supporters out there,” Neville supplied.

Harry shrugged. “I’m pretty decent at putting on an act.”

“You don’t speak Bulgarian, though,” Ron pointed out. 

“I could learn. Or I could get a translator.”

Hermione snorted with annoyance. “Boys. You are so impossible.” she muttered.

“That’s sexist,” Harry said flatly. 

“No it’s not. I know plenty of girls that are impossible, too,” Hermione countered, crossing her arms. A large book then slipped out of her overloaded bag and she bent down to pick it up.

Neville’s eyes fell on Harry. “Are you actually the real Harry Potter?” he blurted.

“Well, yeah.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t carry around my birth certificate everywhere, so I can’t prove it...”

“Don’t ask him if he remembers his parents being murdered, or what You-Know-Who looks like,” Ron supplied helpfully. 

Neville just nodded. “I mean, I was sort of expecting more, but… you’re fine I guess.” he said.

“Thanks,” said Harry.

Hermione had retrieved her book and was now standing upright, eyes boring holes into Harry’s head. “I can’t believe it’s YOU,” she exclaimed, scowling.

“And I can’t believe it's you, either,” Harry countered. “Do you know how pissed my godfather was when I got suspended last spring?”

“You deserved that!” Hermione shrieked. “You made the whole room smell like- like fecal matter somehow!”

Across from Harry, Ron snickered. Harry had to smother a grin of his own. “Those were dungbombs. They’re magical,” he explained.

“Whatever.”

“You didn’t have to TATTLE,” Harry pressed. Sirius had not been happy to have him home for those 3 days. As it happened, school detentions were only “cool” when they were issued at Hogwarts, and when Sirius didn’t have to spend 45 minutes on the phone covering up the use of a magical pranking item.

“I said whatever,” Hermione grumbled.“Come on, Neville, let's go find another compartment.” She grabbed Neville by the arm and started to drag him away. He looked highly affronted by this, and Harry couldn’t blame him. 

“Wait,” Ron cut in. Apparently he too sensed the expression of despair on Neville’s face. “You can sit with us, Neville.” 

Neville practically slumped with relief. “Thanks,” he said, and dropped down next to Harry. Hermione glared at Ron, and Harry made a mental note to inform him that he was most likely now on her hit list. 

Hermione crossed her arms indignantly. “So where am I supposed to go?” she demanded.

“Back to where you were before?” Harry suggested innocently.

“I can’t! We’ve been wandering the train this whole time, looking for someplace to sit!” 

God, was it really THAT difficult to find a compartment? Then again, Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived. He could probably sit with the prefects if he so desired. 

Ron looked as though he was about to say something that might get them in trouble, so Harry cut him off. “You can sit with us too, Hermione,” he offered, trying to keep the tone of his voice as sweet as possible. “I’m sorry. I totally deserved that 3 day suspension from muggle school.”

Ron poked Harry roughly in the leg. His face was contorted in horror. “What are you-”

“Hang on a second,” Harry hissed.

Hermione looked slightly skeptical, but she sat down next to Ron, who looked less than thrilled with the seating arrangements. “Thanks, Harry. Even though you were just incredibly rude to me, that was a nice offer.” she said.

“You’re welcome!” Harry said brightly.

Hermione glanced around the compartment before she (predictably) went off on an extreme tangent. “So. Did you guys read through all the textbooks yet? I’ve done most of them twice, except Charms. I did that one three times. I also bought Hogwarts: A History and I’m in the middle of-”

Ron was rooting around in his bag, probably for something he could use as ear plugs, but Harry held up a hand to stop him. He took his wand out of his back pocket and pointed it discreetly in Hermione’s vicinity. “Muffliato,” he muttered under his breath. Hermione’s incessant rambling dropped down to a dull roar. Ron in Neville looked to Harry with awe.

“See? It’s like she’s not even there, and I get brownie points for inviting her to sit with us.” Harry said. “Maybe now she won’t actively hate me as much.”

Ron appeared thoroughly impressed. “You’re a genius, Harry!”

“Won’t she notice that she’s talking too quietly? And that none of us are responding?” Neville asked. 

Harry shrugged. “I doubt she even hears herself.”

With the Hermione-situation taken care of, the conversation turned to quidditch, which was an excellent ice-breaking topic for three eleven year old boys who had never really spoken before. Naturally, Harry had learned to fly before he knew how to walk. It sounded like Ron was in a similar situation, only he obviously wasn’t QUITE as advanced as Harry. A couple of his brothers had been on the Gryffindor quidditch team in the past. Neville, at any rate, had never been allowed near a broom his entire life. His “Gran” sounded like a bit of a battle axe if Harry had ever heard of one. 

After quidditch got boring (Harry decided he had heard enough after Ron announced his support for the Cannons), the new subject was Current Wizarding Events. More specifically, the break in at Gringotts. Ron had a brother who was a curse breaker, so that was how he knew. Neville knew because his grandmother ate up anything the Prophet put out. 

“Did you hear about the robbery Harry?” Ron asked.

“I wouldn’t use the term ROBBERY,” Harry nit picked. He had, in fact, heard about the break in from Sirius. “No one even took anything. That doesn’t count.”

“Still. Someone got in and they didn’t get caught. That’s pretty impressive,” said Ron.

Neville nodded. “And you know what? Hermione was right. You ARE impossible,” he added.

“So then call it a break in, not a robbery,” Harry insisted. “And it’s just my personality, Neville. I can’t help it. I inherited it from my dad and being raised by his equally obnoxious best friend certainly didn’t help. You know nurture versus nature?”

Neville nodded silently.

“Well, it wasn’t nurture VERSUS nature in this case. It was nurture HELPING nature.”

Neville shook his head. “You’re completely kooky.”

“So what?” Harry just shrugged. “Anyways, yes, I heard about the BREAK IN.”

“We gathered as much,” muttered Ron.

“It makes no sense though. Why would someone break into Gringotts and not take anything?” Neville wondered.

“Did you ever consider that maybe whatever they wanted to steal had already been already withdrawn by someone else by the time they got there?” Harry suggested.

“No,” Ron said.

“That’s stupid,” said Nevile.

Harry shrugged. “I’m just thinking out loud,” he said innocently.

By the time the lunch trolley had passed and Harry had bought Sirius his desired pumpkin pasties, he was honestly just looking forward to getting to school. The fact that they had to sit on a train for 8 plus hours just seemed ridiculous. Honestly, they were wizards, wasn’t there even a SLIGHTLY faster way to get to Hogwarts? 

Eventually Hermione wore herself out from all the talking and just opened a book to read. The rest of the train ride was promising to be fairly nondescript, until the compartment door swung open AGAIN. Honestly, at least at muggle school, people had the decency to knock.

“I heard Harry Potter was in this compartment,” announced a boy with blond hair and a rat face. He was flanked by two massive friends that looked like they wouldn’t be able to string together a coherent sentence even if they both used teamwork. They rat faced boy’s eyes darted around the compartment before landing on Harry. He grinned maliciously.

Harry recognized Draco Malfoy immediately. Sirius and Narcissa exchanged the occasional unfriendly Howler - it was family tradition. 

Harry sighed deeply. So much for a peaceful train ride. “Who told you that?” he asked. “No one has come in or out since we left the platform. Except those two.” 

He nodded at Neville and Hermione, who was so deep into her book she hadn’t noticed Malfoy barge in. That was most likely for the best.

“Yeah, and I don’t think any of my brothers would even talk to you. Much less disclose my location,” added Ron.

“Sounds like stalking to me,” Harry concluded.

“I wasn’t stalking, Potter. You’re not invisible,” Malfoy said. “People can see what compartment you walk into.”

“Who even are you?” blurted Neville. He turned to Harry and Ron. “Do you guys know him or something?”

“That’s Malfoy,” they both spat in unison, and then looked at each other with matching shocked expressions. “How do you know?”

“Sirius is his mom’s cousin,” Harry explained.

“My dad is always trying to arrest his dad,” shrugged Ron.

Malfoy scowled at this. “Oh. So you’re a Weasley then. I should have known. MY dad, who is always trying to avoid being inconveniently detained by YOUR dad, says all the Weasleys have red hair and more kids than they can afford.”

Harry had to grab onto the back of Ron’s shirt to keep him from lunging. Malfoy smiled smugly. “Your dad is a complete prick, Malfoy,” Harry pointed out.

“At least he’s not dead!” Malfoy shouted triumphantly. Harry made a mental note that Malfoy was willing to resort to orphan jokes within 5 minutes of a confrontation, which did not bode well for his argumentative skills. “Or a blood traitor!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, forgive him for having original thoughts. And not wanting to slaughter people based on their… what is it called with dogs? Their pedigree-”

Harry could tell Malfoy was grappling for a real kicker. “And your mom was a mudblood!”

THAT was too far. “HEY!” shouted Harry. He released Ron’s shirt, and immediately all three of them, including Neville, were on their feet. 

Hermione chose this moment to close her book and look up imploringly. “What’s going on?” she asked, staring at Malfoy.

“Jeez, Hermione, welcome back!” Ron said without taking his eyes off Malfoy. He was looking as downright murderous as Harry felt.

“Malfoy just called Harry’s mom a mudblood,” Neville explained.

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “What’s a mudblood?” Harry drew in a sharp breath. THAT was the wrong question to ask.

Malfoy snorted, looking at Hermione gleefully. “You must be one,” he said matter of factly.

“DON’T CALL HER THAT!” Ron roared. Apparently any previous dislike he had for Hermione was out the window, at least for now.

“Dear God. I just came down here for an autograph, Potter,” Malfoy placed his hand over his heart in mock offense. “I didn’t expect your pack of weird friends to viciously ambush me.”

“Listen,” said Neville, sounding unsure. “I don’t really know you, but I am reading the room and thinking you probably shouldn’t have come down here at all.”

Malfoy scowled. “Can it, you.”

Neville shrugged innocently. “You just seemed to be mutually disliked by everyone here.” Harry had to smother a small smile. He liked Neville.

Seeing that he would be getting nowhere with Neville, Malfoy rounded back on Harry. “So you won’t sign my robes or anything?” he demanded. “I genuinely wanted an autograph.”

Harry shook his head. “I would, but I don’t have a pen.”

Malfoy sighed deeply. “It’s no big deal. I was just gonna sell it off to a Hufflepuff or someone anyways. I could use a few galleons.”

“Aren’t your parents filthy rich?” Ron remarked.

Harry would have killed to hear Malfoy’s response to that, but he had another bone to pick. “You can’t resell my signature. It’s trademarked.” he said bluntly.

This was obviously news to Malfoy. He raised an eyebrow, looking incredulous. “How?”

“Well, it’s my NAME.”

Malfoy waved Harry off. “You’re eleven, and you probably have terrible handwriting. Any 6 year old could recreate your signature.”

Harry opened his mouth to defend his handwriting, which was honestly pretty decent, when another thought struck him. “So then why did you come down here in the first place? Why wouldn’t you just forge my autograph and sell it?”

“I wanted to bother you. Duh.”

“I-” Harry paused, suddenly. He decided this wasn’t worth his time, and he had to get changed before the train got to Hogwarts, anyways. His hand went to his back pocket, where his wand was waiting. “Actually, you know what?” Harry took out his wand and pointed it at Malfoy. “Stupefy.” he said lazily. Malfoy and his two friends (who Harry had honestly forgotten were there) fell out into the hallway. That took care of that.

Hermione shrieked. “Harry! You’re not allowed to use magic before we get to school!”

“THAT'S what you’re worried about? Seriously?” Ron countered. He was staring not at Hermione but at Harry, with an expression of extreme reverence.

“Well, he could get in trouble,” insisted Hermione. 

“You didn’t care about that when you had me suspended,” Harry pointed out.

“Oh, get OVER it Harry,” said Hermione. The compartment sat in stunned silence for a few seconds, before Hermione predictably broke it. “What IS a mudblood anyways?”

“Don’t say that,” Ron snapped.

“What does it MEAN?”

“It’s a really bad name for someone who’s parents are muggles. It's like saying they have dirty blood,” Neville explained.

“Oh.” Hermione’s gaze travelled to the three unconscious bodies in the doorway of the compartment. Harry watched her digest this information.

“His friends were kind of stupid looking, weren’t they?” she remarked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were some formatting errors on the last chapter where the dividers weren't showing up- hopefully its fixed now

It was dark outside by the time the train got to the station and Hagrid led the first years to the boats on the lake. Harry idly wondered why they couldn’t just ride in the winged-horse carriages he had seen the rest of the student body boarding to go up to the school. He was fairly sure they would still get a decent view of the castle. The boats seemed hazardous, especially with students like Neville, who Harry had deduced was fairly accident prone.

It wasn’t until the boats were halfway to the school that Harry recalled the tidbit of information Sirius had told him about there being a giant squid living in the lake. He craned his neck over the edge of the boat, but saw nothing except for black, murky water.

“Hey, guess what?” Harry announced to the rest of the boat. Unsurprisingly, he had ended up riding with Ron, Neville and Hermione.

“What?” they all said at once.

“Sirius says there’s a giant squid somewhere in the lake,” Harry informed them. “Who wants to come look for it with me?”

Honestly, as grumpy as he was trying to be about the boat situation, it wasn’t THAT cold out. There was actually still a warm breeze that made for decent swimming conditions.

Hermione looked mortified. “Harry, you can’t honestly be thinking about jumping into the lake,” she admonished.

“Except I so am,” Harry countered. He glanced around at the other three, who were all regarding him with equally flabbergasted expressions. “So? Who wants to come?”

“You can’t do that! You’ll get expelled!” Hermione shrieked.

“They won’t expel me. I’m Harry Potter,” Harry pointed out. “Do you know how BAD that would look?”

Hermione just glared at him. To her right, Neville shrugged indifferently. “He’s probably right.”

“I’d go with you mate, except my mom would kill me if I ruined these robes,” said Ron.

Harry considered this. “Your Mom IS scary…” he agreed. “Alright. I’ll go by myself.”

An expression of extreme distress flickered across Hermione’s face. “Harry, please don’t,” she begged.

Too late. Harry deposited his shoes and socks on the floor of the boat and jumped into the water. The lake hit him like a bucket of ice - it was colder than he had expected, but only slightly. Besides, Sirius hadn’t raised a wimp. He’d raised a hell raiser.

Harry located the squid within seconds. It was easier to see under the water, twisting and rolling around. One of it’s huge, blue tentacles came thrashing in Harry’s direction. As it whoosed past his face, he stuck out his arm and touched it. That was all he needed.

He was able to breast-stroke back to shore at the same time that the boats were arriving. Ron handed Harry his socks, regarding him like he worshipped the ground that he walked on, and Hermione appeared distinctly frumpled.

“Well? Do you feel fulfilled?” she asked sharply. Harry could tell she was faking her indifferent tone.

“I touched a tentacle!” Harry announced.

Neville shook his head, staring at Harry in wonder. “You ARE kooky.”

“No, he’s a downright menace,” Hermione growled.

Ron still appeared to be awestruck. He shook his head, slowly coming to his senses, before holding his hand out for Harry to shake. “I think you’re wicked cool,” he said, grinning.

-

Harry and his fellow first years were lined up in the Great Hall, waiting to be sorted. Because of his escapade in the lake, Harry was (unfortunately) dripping wet. He had half hoped Hagrid might offer to let him use his huge fur coat, or something, but no such luck. When Professor McGonagall had seen the state he was in she had given him a downright petrifying dirty look. In all honesty though, she didn’t really seem surprised, just grimly resigned.

Everyone around Harry was nervous, minus Malfoy. He was a few students ahead in line bragging loudly about how he was guaranteed to be in Slytherin. Hermione had insisted that Harry wake up him, Crabbe and Goyle (He knew their names now because when he went to wake them up, he couldn’t help noticing that their moms had written their names on the tags of their cloaks) before they got off the train. He did, even though he was extremely tempted to let Malfoy ride all the way back to London. It wasn’t like Lucius Malfoy couldn't have easily apparated him into Hogsmeade. Harry viewed it as his good deed for the day.

“I hope I’m in Gryffindor,” said Hermione after she had finished admiring the Great Hall. She was standing behind Harry, Ron and Neville.

“Seriously? I totally had you pegged for Ravenclaw,” remarked Harry. He was trying his best to keep his cool. Honestly, though, nerves about possibly being disowned were inevitable.

Hermione shrugged. “I read about the houses before I came. Gryffindor seems by far the best.”

“So? That doesn’t mean you HAVE to be in it,” Harry pointed out. “Unless you’re implying that you are automatically the best.”

“So what if I am?” Hermione said, crossing her arms.

“Well, what house you think is the best one is all subjective,” Neville remarked.

“And for the record, I’m hoping for Gryffindor too,” said Harry. He was half hoping this would deter Hermione and get her to ask to be placed somewhere else. The idea of sharing a common room with her for 7 years was still too much for him to process. He would cross that bridge when and if he got to it.

“Me too,” said Ron.

“Me three, added Neville.

“Wow. How convenient is it that we all sat together on the train and we all want the same House?” Hermione remarked sarcastically. It was obvious that she was not thrilled at the idea of sharing a House with them, either.

Neville, however, was oblivious. He smiled hopefully. “I know, right?”

“For real though. If I’m not in Gryffindor, Sirius will legitimately disown me,” Harry said. “I know it sounds like I’m exaggerating. I’m really not though. He honestly brought papers and everything.”

Hermione scoffed. “No offense, but your godfather really sounds like a right tool,” she said.

“Not to mention how awkward that would be, considering he teaches here now,” said Neville.

Harry just shrugged. “He never really cared about appearances.”

“Where would you go if he kicked you out, then?” Ron asked, eyes wide. He looked genuinely concerned. Honestly, God bless him.

“Actually, I was hoping your mom could make room for me,” Harry remarked in a casual tone.

Ron nodded dutifully. “I’ll send her a letter tonight if things don’t work out.” he said, business-like. Harry smiled to himself and decided that he liked Ron.

There was a sudden hush when McGonagall walked to the front of the hall and placed a tattered hat on a stool. Apparently, no one in Ron’s family had told him how students were sorted, because he mumbled something about not having to fight a troll. Harry was more concerned that Crabbe or Goyle would break the stool when they tried to sit on it. It didn’t look very sturdy.

One by one, students went to the front of the hall to be sorted once McGonagall read off their name.

The first one, Abbot, Hannah, became a Hufflepuff. Boot, Terry was a Ravenclaw. Harry zoned out while he watched the rest of his classmates file through and tried not to think about being disowned. As it turned out, the stool must have had some sort of charm on it, because it was able to withstand both Crabbe and Goyle’s massive bodies. They were predictably put in Slytherin.

When Hermione’s name was called, the hat stayed on her head for a full 5 minutes. Harry had his fingers crossed behind his back and was chanting ‘Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw,’ in his mind. He swore he could hear Ron actually saying out loud it next to him.

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat announced. Harry and Ron’s groans were drowned out by the rambunctious applause from the table all the way to the right.

The line of students at the front of the hall was slowly thinning out. Harry clapped when Neville made it to Gryffindor like he wanted, and laughed when he tried to take off with the hat. Finally, McGonagall called, “Potter, Harry!”

Everyone immediately went silent, before whispers went up around the hall.

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

If Harry hadn’t been totally expecting the attention, it would have caught him completely off guard. Ron pounded him on the back for good luck and he tried to walk towards the stool with as much dignity as possible.

“I seem to be garnering a lot of attention,” he muttered as he passed by Malfoy, who was still standing in line.

“Please try your best not to be a Slytherin,” Malfoy hissed.

Harry snorted. “I haven’t heard THAT before.”

“My name is on the list for Durmstrang if you do end up there, at any rate,” Malfoy said, scowling.

“You wouldn’t have to worry about transferring. If I’m put in Slytherin, I am literally fleeing the country,” said Harry honestly.

Malfoy crossed his arms. “Hmmph.”

“Potter!” McGonagall’s shrill voice cut across the hall. Apparently Harry was stalling the Sorting process. “What are you doing?!”

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry apologized loudly. He bent down and pretended to smooth out the carpet. “There was a snag in the rug and I didn’t want anyone else to trip over it.” This garnered a few laughs around the hall. Harry glanced smugly back at Malfoy as he went over to sit on the stool.

The brim of the hat fell over his eyes. Immediately the hall full of people looking at him with am used expressions was replaced with its black interior.

“Difficult, very difficult,” said a quiet voice in Harry’s ear. “Plenty of courage I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, that’s interesting… so where shall I put you?”

‘Not Slytherin. Dear God, not Slytherin.’

“Not Slytherin, eh?” The hat laughed.

Harry thought about it. ‘I mean, I guess it WOULD be funny to see Malfoy at Durmstrang. He wouldn’t last a week there.’

“Making enemies on your first day?” the hat inquired. “That’s a Slytherin quality if I’ve ever heard one.”

‘No, I just don’t think he has enough meat on his bones to get through the winter at Durmstrang. Plus the uniforms look stupid,’ Harry countered. ‘Not to mention that his dad is a die-hard supporter of the man who murdered my parents. So I really didn’t MAKE him my enemy, we were born enemies.’

The hat paused for a moment. “I was just joking,” it said finally. “God, lighten up.”

Harry didn’t respond to that. He was trying to push forward his most Gryffindor-like thoughts possible.

“You jumped into the lake on the way here?” asked the hat.

THAT he could talk about. ‘Yeah. Duh. I touched the giant squid, too.’

“I thought so. You’re soaking wet,” said the hat decisively. “Well, that settles it then- GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry ripped off the hat with immense relief and stood up to go to the Gryffindor table. He was immediately deafened by easily the loudest cheer of the night, along with several loud bangs that came from the Head Table.

God, did Sirius know how to be embarrassing. As Harry took his seat he looked up and saw several red and gold fireworks exploding at the front of the hall. McGonagall’s smile was slightly amused and Snape, Harry noticed, looked downright murderous. (Maybe he had wanted him to be in Slytherin?) Dumbledore was shamelessly clapping for the display.

Sirius stood up after the fireworks dissipated and pulled the disownment papers out of his pocket. Harry grinned when he set them on fire with his wand.

A red-haired boy Harry recognized as Percy Weasley leaned over several confused Gryffindors to talk to him. “What are those papers he’s burning?” he asked.

“Those?” Harry inquired innocently. “Oh, those are my disownment papers. You know, in case I didn’t make it into Gryffindor.”

Percy’s face screwed up in shock. “Your godfather was going to DISOWN you if you weren’t a Gryffindor?”

“That’s what I just said, wasn’t it?” said Harry. Percy continued to look astonished. “What? You wouldn’t disown Ron?”

“No! That’s horrible!” exclaimed Percy, sounding highly affronted.

Harry just shrugged. “House pride over everything.” he remarked.

A few more seats down, Fred and George Weasley grinned and gave Harry the thumbs up.

“Your godfather rocks, mate,” said the one he was fairly sure was George.

“Yeah,” agreed Fred. “You’ll have to introduce us sometime.”

Harry was making arrangements for Fred and George to meet Sirius for tea when Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin. The hat had barely touched his head before it put him there, and he swaggered off to the other side of the hall, looking smug.

After Sirius’ stunt, the rest of the sorting was incredibly nondescript in comparison. Ron was one of the last ones to be sorted and he made it to Gryffindor within a moment or two. Once the sorting was over, food appeared on the gold plates in the center of the table. Harry had to listen to Hermione admonishing Ron for his poor eating habits for a full 6 minutes.

This was going to be a LONG 7 years.

The first years Harry was sitting near included Ron, Hermione, Neville, and two other boys, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. Predictably, Hermione found anything THEY had to discuss too immature and grouped off with Percy, who was going on and on about when classes would start. Seamus, on the other hand, was telling the table how his mother hadn’t told his father that she was a witch until after they were married. Harry thought he should count himself lucky that he wasn’t a child of divorce.

Then Neville bored them all with a story about how his whole family thought he was going to be a squib. When he got to the part about his Great Uncle Algie dangling him out the window, Harry was slightly startled. Honestly, Neville was very fortunate to be alive. And good God, what was Great Uncle Algie thinking? He would undoubtedly be uninvited from all future family gatherings if Neville HAD been a squib and had broken his neck.

Harry realized it was his turn to contribute to the conversation. “I grew up with Sirius,” he said, nodding at the Head table. “He’s up there, wearing the black robes.”

Seamus did not look impressed. “They’re ALL wearing black robes.” he pointed out.

“Well, he has black hair too,” amended Harry. Then he realized what other teacher also had black hair. “But he’s not Sniv- I mean, not Snape.”

“What were you going to call him?” Nevile asked.

Harry shrugged innocently. He would have to work on not using Sirius’ childhood nickname for Snape if he wanted to survive Potions class. “Nothing. I just almost sneezed.”

“Why is he teaching Divination anyways? Is he a Seer?” Dean asked.

Harry snorted. “No.” he said bluntly. Well, actually... “Although he did predict I would marry Ron’s sister this morning.”

Ron started gagging on a piece of mince pie and had to be pounded on the back by Neville. “Sorry, what?” he croaked.

“Don’t worry. He’s not THAT good,” Harry assured him.

Seamus raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So then why was he hired?”

“I don’t know. It’s anyone’s guess, honestly,” Harry shrugged. “Dumbledore got bored? The majority of the Wizarding population hates Divination?”

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You know, you don’t get this kind of stuff with regular people,” he said.

“What kind of stuff?” asked Neville.

“What regular people?” Harry said.

Dean folded his arms and overall looked unamused. “Muggles. I’m muggle born.”

“You are?” said Seamus, looking interested. Harry, on the other hand, had a much more pressing question.

“Were you aware of my fame?” he blurted. Beside him, Ron groaned.

“I mean, if I wasn’t, I am now,” Dean said. “You are not exactly subtle. With anything.”

“Well, that’s because-” Harry started to launch into his standard genetics explanation, but Ron cut him off with a loud coughing noise.

“Be quiet right now, Dean. Don’t get him started,” he warned.

Dean looked between Harry and Ron, evidently bewildered. “What? What did I say?”

Neville cut a slice of treacle tart and put it on his plate. “He was about to start talking about nurture and nature,” he said matter-of-factly.

Another half an hour passed before the plates were cleared of food. At the front of the hall, Dumbledore stood. The student body was completely silent while he made his usual start-of-term speech. When he mentioned quidditch tryouts, Harry made a mental note to ask Sirius if he had packed his broom. First years technically weren’t allowed to bring them, but there was no rule against teachers doing it.

“And finally,” Dumbledore said at last. “I must tell you that this year the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

Very few people laughed, and Harry was among them. Ron gave him a strange look. Harry snorted. “He’s bluffing, I guarantee it,” he said.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, I don’t have THAT much faith, but I have enough to believe that Dumbledore wouldn’t designate an entire hallway to something that is potentially lethal. Imagine how big that thing would have to be? Not to mention the potential lawsuits.”

“Hmm.” Ron considered this. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I wonder what happens to the people who actually had classes on the third floor,” Harry wondered idly. Ron just shrugged.

“Maybe they get a free period or something,” he suggested, sounding like he hoped one of his classes was on the third floor.

-

That night, when Harry could finally hear the continuous drone of Neville’s snoring (THAT would definitely take some getting used to), he stuck out to the common room and climbed through the portrait hole. He was holding a bag of dungbombs Sirius had hidden in his trunk. There had been a note attached to them, telling him to meet him outside the portrait hole at midnight.

Sure enough, when Harry got outside, Sirius was there, grinning maliciously. “Where are we going?” Harry inquired.

“Shhh,” said Sirius. “But, the Slytherin common room.”

Silently, Harry followed Sirius through the dark halls. Even though it had been years since Sirius was at school, he somehow knew exactly where he was going. Slytherin turned out to be located in the dungeons. Harry was very glad he was so adamant with the hat about not wanting to be put there. Among the other reasons, it was DRAFTY down there.

Sirius guessed the password by whispering different variations of pro-Voldemort sayings. It ended up being ‘pureblood’, and Sirius speculated that it was so simple so that the new first years didn’t forget it. Once they got inside it took 15 minutes for him and Harry to place dungbombs discreetly under all of the tables in the common room. Sirius then charmed them so that they wouldn’t go off until the morning, right before the Slytherins went to class.

When Harry and Sirius returned to the portrait hole, they shared a celebratory high-five. “That’s a reward for getting into Gryffindor,” Sirius informed him. “If you were a Slytherin, I would have just done it myself. And you would have been on the receiving end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment/leave kudos!  
> \- part of Dumbledore's speech taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The much awaited Friday update... la de da!!

Harry stuck out to the Slytherin table at breakfast the next morning, where Malfoy was sitting surrounded by his fellow housemates. All of them, he noted fondly, reeked of dungbombs. Harry casually slid into an empty chair.

“Hey Malfoy.”

Malfoy looked highly affronted by Harry’s gall to sit at his table. “I don’t want an autograph, if that’s why you’re here.”

Harry held up his hands to show that they were empty. “Still no pen,” he said apologetically.

“Then what are you doing over here?” Malfoy inquired. “People are staring, you know.”

Harry looked around. There WERE a few heads turned in his direction, probably wondering why such a conspicuously devout Gryffindor would besmirch himself by sitting at the Slytherin table. He just shrugged them off.

“Such is the life of a celebrity,” Harry sighed dramatically. “I’m Harry Potter. It doesn’t MATTER what I do, people will always be staring.” This was true. A Daily Prophet reporter had once been creative enough to hide in a urinal; he now refused to use public restrooms at any establishment. “And as for why I’m over here… You know.” Harry held his nose in reference to the odor that was currently permeating the entire Great Hall. 

Malfoy crossed his arms. “The result of a hate crime,” he said indignantly.

“Oh really? How do you know?” Harry implored.

“Someone snuck into our common room last night and hid dungbombs everywhere.” 

It was even more brilliant to hear Malfoy repeat it outloud. Harry smothered a grin- a good prankster never revealed themselves. “Who would do such a thing?” he asked sympathetically.

Malfoy simply scowled at him. “God knows it was probably you and your malevolent godfather.”

“Now you sound like Snape, using words like malevolent,” Harry pointed out, examining his fingernails nonchalantly.

“Jokes on you. I take that as a compliment.” Malfoy fired back.

“Sorry. I forgot you worshipped Snape,” Harry countered. Malfoy frowned but didn’t deny it. Oh, come ON. Harry cleared his throat loudly. “Anyways. What makes you think it was me and Sirius?”

“Well, given the fact that your godfather burned DISOWNMENT papers at the sorting last night, I’m going to guess he’s a pretty die hard Gryffindor fanatic. And everyone knows Gryffindor and Slytherin are rivals,” Malfoy said, looking at Harry like it should have been obvious.

Harry sighed deeply. “The whole house rivalry thing is such garbage. I mean, I get it- quidditch teams. But do we really need a points system? It seems a little elementary if you ask me. At muggle school, you stop getting awards based on behavior after the age of 7.” Harry paused for a moment. “How did you know those were disownment papers?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Who’s to say I haven’t seen them before?”

“Er- OK,” Harry hastily put an end to the subject. Seriously, he really did not care to get into the inner workings of the Malfoy household before 9 am. “Either way, you’re wrong- it wasn’t us.”

Malfoy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Prove it.”

Hadn’t he just ranted about how he detested childishness? Then again, hiding dungbombs in the Slytherin common room hadn’t exactly been mature. “I have an alibi,” Harry said seriously.

Malfoy snorted. “Who is it? Weasley?”

“No. H.P.S.A.P.A.S.,” Harry said, sounding fully certain of himself.

Malfoy baulked. “Who is THAT?” he demanded.

“Not who, what,” Harry said. “It stands for Harry Potter’s Society Against Pranks Against Slytherins. I even trademarked it.” (He hadn’t, but then again, it wasn’t a real organization.)

Malfoy looked… appreciative? Touched? Whatever it was, it didn’t sit right with Harry. “You would really do that?”

Harry nodded. “Only if you don’t try to get in the way,” he said. “Only Gryffindors are allowed in.”

“Duly noted,” Malfoy agreed.

Harry grinned. Seriously, Malfoy was too easy. 

-

The first class Harry had with his fellow Gryffindors was transfiguration, and their assignment was to change a match into a needle. McGonagall was walking around, checking everyone’s progress. This task was no trouble for Harry, of course- he had his match changed within a few seconds. He HAD been an animagus since he was nine, afterall. Low level transfiguration was a piece of cake.

McGonagall was floored. “Wow, Potter. That’s… really good,” she said weakly. Harry’s needle had absolutely no trace of the match it had once been, while the rest of the class was struggling to turn theirs’ silver. 

“Do you want me to change it back too? Did you need the matches?” Harry asked. “Unless you actually wanted a ton of needles for some reason, and that’s why you assigned this lesson. Although, that would have been fairly counterproductive, seeing that we’re all 11 and so far no one else has even come close.”

McGonagall blinked. “We aren’t supposed to start reverse transfiguration until April.”

“Well, I already know how to do it,” Harry said. He pointed his wand at his needle and suddenly, it was a match once again. “Evidently.”

“That is amazing,” McGonagall admitted. “Your father was very good at transfiguration as well.”

“So then it must be genetic,” Harry said decisively. (Or maybe this yet was another classic case of nurture helping nature.)

Harry wondered if McGonagall was aware she was grinning as she marked her clipboard. “Well, you get an O today, at any rate.” Her eyes travelled to Ron, who was sitting next to Harry, looking insanely jealous. His match was completely unaltered. “Help Weasley, will you?” McGonagall said before walking off to help Hermione.

“Maybe I wouldn’t such so bad if I had a wand that was actually mine,” Ron grumbled.

Harry stopped. “Then whose wand is that?” he asked. Seriously, Harry knew the Weasleys had money troubles, but a wand seemed essential.

“Charlie’s,” answered Ron.

Now that Harry thought about it, the last time he had been at the burrow he HAD caught a glimpse at Mrs. Weasley’s extensive collection of Lockhart books. Perhaps that was where ‘Ron’s wand fund’ had gone. This was concerning. “Why didn’t you get your own? I mean, I know money is tight. But you know what they say. The wand chooses the wizard and whatnot.”

Ron shrugged haplessly. “Mum says that’s marketing propaganda.” 

“Did Charlie get a NEW wand or something?” Harry pressed. Nothing was making sense. The only reason a wizard would ever purchase a new wand would be if something happened to his old one. This did not bode well for the functionality of the wand Ron had.

Ron shrugged again, in ernest confusion. “I honestly do not know. Look, when you have that many siblings, you need to focus on yourself or else you go insane. Look at Dad.”

Harry grimaced. Mr. Weasley’s obsession with muggle culture was borderline derogatory. “I didn’t think about that. My parents were murdered before they could have more children,” Harry amended. Ron looked extremely uncomfortable, as he was wont to whenever Harry mentioned his parents (non-brutal) murder. “At any rate, Sirius and I could pay for a new wand.”

Ron’s response was both immediate and incredibly predictable. “I do not need charity -”

Harry held up a hand, silencing him. “Please, do not think of this as charity. This is me not wanting to do your assignments for you for the next 7 years.” He pointed his wand at Ron’s desk and changed his match into a flawless needle.

This seemed to settle Ron. “Do you mean it?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Yes. Between me being an orphan and Sirius being the last surviving member of an entire pureblood bloodline, we are rolling in the dough. It would be completely selfish and immoral to keep it all for ourselves.” 

“Thank you, Harry,” Ron said. He looked like he might kiss him.

“It is legitimately not a problem,” Harry assured him.

Transfiguration was followed by history of magic, which was exactly as boring as Harry had expected it to be. He actually dozed off for awhile. Ron, bless him, was willing to let him sleep peacefully, but Hermione would not have it. She swatted him continually until he finally woke up.

“What’s your problem?” Harry grumbled, irritated. “I was up late last night.”

“Why?” Hermione inquired. God, she was nosy,

“Putting dungbombs in the Slytherin common room,” Harry replied smoothly. It might seem dumb to disclose to Hermione, who was the biggest stickler for the rules he had ever met, that he had vandalized an entire common room last night. However, he was A) The Boy Who Lived, and B) had a badge with the acronym H.P.S.A.P.A.S. on it in his pocket that told a different story.

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “That was YOU?!”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, it would be super cool if you didn’t say anything to anyone though, OK?”

Hermione looked so galled that Harry thought she might slap him. Thankfully, Ron chose that moment to interrupt. “It’s been your turn in hangman for the past 20 minutes, Harry,” he said. Dean and Seamus were both looking at him expectantly. Ron had been the one to come up with the phrase.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized. He left Hermione to her furious grumbling and turned towards them. “Can I guess to solve?”

“Sure.”

“MALFOY SUCKS,” Harry said decisively. Only three of the letters were filled in, but he had learned to read Ron by now.

Sure enough, he beamed. “That’s right!”

Seamus looked furious. “You told him, didn’t you?!” he accused Ron.

“No, I just happen to highly agree,” Harry corrected.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was another class altogether. Harry had been looking forward to it the most, but was severely disappointed, apparently along with the majority of his fellow classmates. Professor Quirrel was a complete joke. Harry found his massive purple turban incredibly distracting. Not to mention the classroom smelled worse than most of the Slytherins, a significant feat.

The stench was so dominating that Harry was having a very difficult time focusing on the syllabus they had been handed. So, apparently, was Ron. 

“It smells in here, doesn’t it?” he whispered at one point.

“SO bad,” Harry agreed.

“I genuinely cannot focus,” said Ron.

“Do you want me to say something?” Harry offered.

Ron looked skeptical. “I mean, I guess that would be helpful,” he admitted. “It can’t be like this the whole year. My average in this class will suck.”

That stelling it. Harry raised his hand, and Quirrel looked genuinely fearful. Though that was not out of character for him.

“P-Potter?”

“Your turban absolutely reeks, Professor. I think I speak for the entire class when I say it is almost impossible to focus on anything except the incredible stench in this room,” Harry said bluntly.

Some of Harry’s classmates laughed, because they were 11, afterall, and it technically qualified as a bathroom joke. Most of them, however, nodded in agreement. Quirrel now looked completely terrified. 

“S-sorry about that,” he said. “Honestly. I am.”

“Maybe you could take it off?” Harry suggested helpfully.

“No!” Quirrel snapped. Wait. Where had his severely prominent stutter gone? Quirrel seemed to realize his error and quickly went back to lecturing about his bathroom use policy. Harry sighed loudly in defeat.

“You tried,” Ron said consolingly.

“Maybe he just has a bad haircut,” Harry reconciled.

-

Their first potions lesson was that Friday. In all honesty, Harry was looking forward to it. Sirius had provided him with plenty of dirt on Snape, so that if he tried to make the class a living hell for him, he could at least give as good as he got.

And boy, did it start off with a bang. “Potter!” Snape barked. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Seriously, this was ridiculous. “Does it have to be powdered, necessarily?” Harry asked.

“Answer the question,” Snape growled.

Harry shook his head. “That is incredibly unfair. I mean, you’re what… in your early 30s? Seriously, I’m eleven. Not to mention this is my first year at a wizarding school. Now, if you were going to ask me to go to the front and do long division, I probably could.”  
It was barely audible, but Hermione snorted. “No you couldn’t.” she muttered.

“Five points from Gryffindor for back talk,” Snape said. Harry took the blow with pride- these were not the first points he had lost, nor would they be the last. “Where would I find a bezoar?”

“OK, I actually know this one. It’s basic knowledge,” Harry amended. “Stomach of a goat.”

Snape looked severely displeased that Harry had actually given a correct answer, and dove straight into the next question. “What is the difference between-”

“Wait!” Harry interrupted. Several of his classmates groaned. Clearly this back and forth was beginning to tank in its excitement value; well, he would just have to make it more interesting. “I got one right. Can I earn my points BACK?”

“Absolutely not. Gryffindor will win the house cup this year over my dead body,” Snape said fiercely. 

Come on, he was walking straight into this one. “I can gladly arrange that,” Harry replied brightly.

This time, Hermione did not bother keeping quiet. “You can’t give teachers death threats, Harry!” she shrieked.

“This is the one, singular time I will EVER say something even remotely close to this,” Snape said in a reconciled tone, “but you should listen to Granger.” He paused for a moment and swallowed, like there was a bad taste in his mouth, then shuddered. Honestly. And people claimed wizards had progressed beyond blood prejudices. “Anyways. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“You stumped me,” Harry said, shrugging.

Snape shook his head sadly. “Clearly fame isn’t everything, is it?”

Harry had a Sharpie in his pocket for emergency autographs that said otherwise, but he managed to keep his mouth shut about it. “Clearly you despise Gryffindors,” he said instead. “You know who else was a Slytherin who despised Gryffindors? Voldemort.”

Once the gasps that around after Harry spoke Voldemort’s name died down, Snape scowled. “Clearly your malevolent godfather didn’t teach you any manners.”

“Touche,” said Harry. “Wait… where’s Malfoy?” Harry stood and craned his neck to look at Malfoy, who was pretending to be absorbed in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. “See? I told you! Malevolent!”

“Sit down Potter,” Snape growled. “Some of your pupils may be interested in learning the correct answers to my questions.”

Harry sat. “One for three seems pretty decent for a first year,” he pointed out.

“If you are aiming for mediocre, maybe,” Snape said. “And for your information- asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite.” Snape paused and looked around the room. “Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”

-

That night, Harry and Ron visited the divination tower to speak with Sirius. Harry figured he would be interested in his first lesson with Snape, and Ron just wanted to see him, because the twins had been talking about him non stop for the past few days. (They were now having tea together semi-nightly).

Ron, despite generally being quiet around adults, found quite a bit to complain about when it came to Snape. He somehow remembered every unfair question Harry had been asked and repeated them word for word. Sirius lapsed into deep thought for a few moments following this.

“I bitterly regret Lily’s death,” he burst out suddenly.

“Me too,” Harry said uneasily. “But come on, Sirius, that was years ago…”

“No, not that,” Sirius waved a hand at Harry, dismissing him.

“I am completely lost,” Ron admitted.

“So am I,” agreed Harry.

“Well, for starters, an asphodel is a type of LILY, hint hint. And this particular lily means ‘my regrets follow you to the grave’, for whatever reason. And wormwood generally stands for ‘absence’ and ‘bitter sorrow’. Heavy emphasis on the bitter, in Snape’s case.” Sirius stroked his chin thoughtfully. “If you combine them you come up with ‘I bitterly regret Lily’s death.”

“Wow. That was impressive,” Ron said appreciatively. 

“Are you actually a Seer and not telling me?” Harry demanded, crossing his arms.

Sirius shook his head. “No. I learned the Victorian flower language when I was growing up. It used to be a pureblood thing,” he explained.

“Any particular reason?” asked Ron.

“Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe it’s Death Eater code.” Sirius shrugged.

“No wonder Snape knew it,” Harry muttered.

Ron’s mouth fell open. “Snape was a DEATH EATER?”

“I don’t know for sure, but probably. I mean, did you see him?” asked Harry. He actually had no real proof that Snape was involved with Voldemort at all, but it would certainly fit the narrative. What other reason could he possibly have to hate him so much?

“Well, he definitely wasn’t getting laid in his spare time,” Sirius added.

Oh yeah, and there was that reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading; please kudos and comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudos, a comment, or whatever. This has been in the works since September. updates every Friday.


End file.
